Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
“I wish I’d fucked you.”
Ah, just saying that gives me a thrill.
His club is even more homophobic than mine, so I expect a barrage of insults. Maybe he'll even manage to spit on me this time. But if I’m dying, I might as well go out with a bang. Who knows when the rest of the ceiling will collapse?
Clyde doesn’t speak. His eyes widen, his ragged breath gets louder, and he stares at me for a while.
“I would have let you,” he whispers, but even with the metal creaking in the wind and the fire making another piece of wood nearby crumble, I hear him loud and clear.
It’s hard to believe I’m not imagining things.
“You—” I trail off, breathless, and all of a sudden I want to feel the warmth of his skin, the smell of his hair against my face. I reach out, straining my aching body, until I inevitably reach the point where the weight on my lower body keeps me away from him. He extends his hand too. Almost shyly. Not for the gun anymore, but for my fingers.
Before we can touch, a high-pitched screech above makes us both look up in time to see falling debris.
And then I’m gone.
Chapter 2
Clyde
My head feels split in two. I already know I’m dreaming, but waking up remains a struggle. Debris and dust falls on me like snow, fire glowing somewhere far away as I walk through the endless ruins of this building.
It’s my fault. I set up the bomb. I should have fought tooth and nail to leave.
Someone calls my name, and I open my eyes to see my uncle, Grizzly.
A machine beeps somewhere close. I’m hit by the smell of disinfectant, and pain floods my body. So much pain.
I must be on painkillers though, because the discomfort is behind a wall. I must be in real bad shape if I feel it anyway.
My head spins as I move my gaze from my uncle’s worried frown to the calming pastel blues of the hospital’s interior.
The memories of what happened are a knot I’m only now untangling. I expected to be dead. And I’m not. One of my legs is in a cast, my arms are covered by layers of bandages, my side aches like a motherfucker, but I’m most definitely alive.
Grizzly cracks a smile, showing off his gold fang. My uncle’s in his fifties, has gray in his beard and a face carved by wrinkles after a lifetime of too much tanning, but he’s fit, muscular, and always ready for a fight.
“What… what happened?”
“You did it, Clyde. You blew up the warehouse, and the cops were all over the place like flies on shit. They found some of the cargo in the rubble, both drugs and guns, so Katze, who was the official owner of the building, is going away for a while. And it gets even better. Before the cops got there, we took some of the ammo.” He looks into my eyes and slows down. “It’s a lot to take in, sorry, you’re probably still out of it. It’s been a week.”
A week? I’ve been out for an entire week?
I try to speak, but my throat is so dry even the moan I end up making sounds parched.
Grizzly grabs a cup with a straw and offers it to me. “Here, I’ve got you. Shame you can’t be at our local hospital. My old lady would have taken great care of you there, but I suppose this big hospital in the city must have better equipment. You’ve done good. Roy would be proud,” he says and pats my cheek with a satisfied smile.
My brother would have been more proud if I’d gotten the fucker who killed him, and we still don’t know which of the Vulture bastards did it. I’d wipe them all out, but annihilating twenty or so bikers wouldn’t go unnoticed by the law even in that backwards village they all live in like some incestuous commune of violent hippies.
I never thought I’d get to be anyone important within the club hierarchy. Especially not at twenty-seven. My older brother was the prez, but me? Just your average member of the Hell’s Butchers MC, ready to stick my neck out when needed, but only then. After my older brother’s murder, my uncle took over the reins, but he seems to want me to step up as well. He might even expect me to become his official right hand in the future. As a younger guy, I could become the anchor of the club, whereas he might have just ten or fifteen more years left on the hog. I didn’t expect it, but I’m tied to the club for life, so if push comes to shove, I might have to go with that flow. The only way I’m ever leaving is in a body bag anyway. At least closer to leadership, I’ll be able to steer the club toward revenge for Roy’s death.